


Crazy in Here

by belowthesurface17



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belowthesurface17/pseuds/belowthesurface17
Summary: This is a story I created about mental illnesses and the stigmas around them.





	Crazy in Here

Ceilings confuse me.  
They protect us, keep us dry, yes. But how do you determine the height of one? What about the design that’s painted on it? Is it just personal preference? Is there a scientific study behind ceilings and the best one to have?  
I sigh.  
If I had my own ceiling I think I would want it blue. Not because it is my favorite color, but because it reminds me of the sky. The sky when it’s warm out and the white puffy clouds are at a minimal.  
The one I stare at now is white, like the walls.  
Oh, God. So many walls. All the time.  
I squim uncomfortably in my bed.  
My back is sore. And I think my right leg fell asleep.  
I wiggle my leg a little.  
Yep, defiantly numb.  
I slowly turn my head to the right. I cringe. My neck hurts too. I try to rotate it, get it to loosen up, but nothing really helps.  
I feel antsy.  
I know what time it is.  
My stomach growls violently.  
I haven’t eaten much lately. My meals have seemed to almost be nonexistent. Most days I don’t even remember eating them, but I’m told that it is normal. So, I guess it must be.  
Suddenly, I hear a click, a door hinge creek ever so softly, and then a voice. “Good morning.” I look up over my body to see a man in a black outfit.  
He smiles at me.  
I smile back.  
“Sleep well?” He asks.  
I shrug, resting my head back on its pillow.  
“Nightmares again?”  
I nod.  
The man, Trevor, goes to kneel at my side. He has a syringe in his left hand.  
I think that’s why I like him. He is left handed. I find left-handed people fascinating.  
Trevor pulls the cap off the needle. “On two,” he counts down and the needle is in my arm.  
I feel a slight prick, but otherwise it doesn’t bother me.  
In four and a half seconds the content from the syringe is inside me. He pulls it out and then sticks the cap back on, dropping the needle into his shirt pocket.  
Next, Trevor, starting at my right wrist, unbuckles me from my bed. He undos my other wrist and both my ankles before turning back to face me.  
I sit up on my bed, rubbing my wrists. They are red and raw. The leather shackles do that, especially if I am restless at night.  
Trevor clears his throat, “Dr. Jenkins has scheduled an appointment for you today, after Group Therapy. She wants to do a private evaluation on your mental state. She wants to make sure you're up to the task of dressing yourself and storing your own cloths.”  
I glance at the mini, two drawer, nightstand that sits a foot from my headboard against the wall.  
Trevor continues, never even pausing to let me reply. “And now you must hurry and dress. We are off to a bit of a late start.” He walks to the open door. “We had a delay this morning,” delay? “But no worries!” His smile grows unnaturally large. “Everything is under control, like always.”  
Like always.  
Trevor shuts the door behind him with a clang and I jump, the noise startles me.  
When I know it is safe to stand on my tingling leg I do. I take the three steps it takes to the small nightstand and open the top drawer. A pair of orange cotton elastic pants and matching button up shirt lay, nicely folded inside. I pull those out and set them on my bed. At the very bottom of the drawer lays a white tank top and various tan undergarments. I pick one of the two bra’s and then underwear.  
Quickly, I change into my clothes, shedding my white pajamas.  
I had too hurry or Trevor would get impatient and come in. He gets in a rush when his superiors are on him about things.  
In less than two minutes I was dressed and as I reached to knock on the door it flew open, Trevor standing, staring at me with his circular blue eyes. “About time,” he murmurs, motioning for me to start our journey to the bathrooms.  
As we make our way down the hall, we pass another Friend and a kid named Jacob.  
Jacob was my age. At least that’s what I’m guessing. He never told me his age, he doesn’t actually speak. But he looks to be around sixteen.  
Jacob doesn’t look up as I pass him, though, the Friend holding his upper arm smiles at Trevor. She’s a skinny girl with blond hair and bulging blue eyes. She kind of reminds me of Trevor to be honest. Except he has darker blond hair, and he’s very muscular. But he’s tall like her. Close to six feet, maybe even over.  
Trevor just nods his head to her and then nudges my back, forcing me to walk faster.  
I think I prefer myself a slower walker. If I had to choose. I enjoy taking my time.  
Most nights before I fall into a fitful sleep I imagine myself walking through a park, sometimes a beach if I really want to stretch it.  
But I would think parks would be more fun. They have playgrounds, and swings. Oh, and there are lots of furry animals. Like squirrels. At least, that’s what I heard from Casey. Though, I don’t know if I believe her, she likes to make things up.  
“Go on.” Trevor says, opening the door to the bathrooms for me. “We don’t have all day.”  
I nod and then scurry into the bathroom, secretly wondering if I can brush my teeth, use the toilet, and comb my hair before Trevor comes in for me. Maybe I can do it all simultaneously.  
I sigh.  
I’ve decided; I really don’t like being rushed.


End file.
